


Hold Your Silence

by KrisseyCrystal (AisukuriMuStudio)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: A little fluff at the end because these two deserve a happy ending, Angst, Canon-Compliant, For the most part, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, aka in which Sorey has to explore why in all of Glenwood is he coughing up flower petals, and finds that rly he should have known it would have been because of water boy, hanahaki disease au, lots of Soymilk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AisukuriMuStudio/pseuds/KrisseyCrystal
Summary: It was strangely hypnotic to see such a bright, pretty blue thing lie there so innocently, damp with his own saliva. It had been the cause of such discomfort mere minutes prior; why was it so beautiful?Sorey turned the petal over and over, tracing its surface.He wondered if perhaps the far more important question here to answer instead was:  yes it was pretty, but why was it in his throat?





	Hold Your Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired heavily by @doodlesala's artwork found here for Sormik Week 2017: https://doodlesala.tumblr.com/post/163600681205/theres-no-time-to-be-coughing-flowers-when-you
> 
> Also, thanks to whichever Anon it was that encouraged my muse to do this. This was a fun ride.

The first petal came without warning, in the middle of a fight while on their way to Rayfalke Spiritcrest. Sorey had just deflected a hellion that had charged for Mikleo’s open back—a weird and filmy moment in the Shepherd’s memory—and felt a tickle in the back of his throat. He shoved himself in between, behind the water seraph, and swung his sword in a wide arch to move the enemy and the other beast with it back. He purified the first hellion. He felt himself gag.

He bent his body away from the battle. Something was rising with every awkward and half-obscured breath and when whatever-it-was turned out to be soft and tickled his lip after he coughed it up, he curiously lifted it away to see a soft blue petal.

Funny, he thought as he stared at the petal pinched between his two fingers in puzzled shock. He couldn’t remember eating flowers for breakfast.

“Sorey!” Mikleo cried out. His voice was strangely distant.

Back to the fray, then; as quickly as he had left it. Sorey dropped the petal, spun, and parried off the beast that came for him with an open maw.

He forgot all about the petal until Marlind, when a second one surfaced in the middle of the night.

Like before, it started with a tickle. Sorey sat up and pressed a hand to his throat with a wince. He pressed his other hand to the mattress beneath him as if holding himself upright would help get whatever was stuck in his airway out. He coughed; Mikleo beside him stirred. Alisha slept without a care in the bed to their left, and Edna and Lailah were nowhere to be seen.

Sorey’s knees pulled up to form a tent in the blanket. He curled forward, covering his mouth until finally he felt the slip and slide of something soft fall out of his mouth and into the palm of his hand.

It was strangely hypnotic to see such a bright, pretty blue thing lie there so innocently, damp with his own saliva. It had been the cause of such discomfort mere minutes prior; why was it so beautiful? Sorey turned the petal over and over, tracing its surface. He wondered if perhaps the far more important question here to answer instead was:  yes it was pretty, but why was it in his throat?

“Sorey…?”

Green eyes darted to bleary violet. Sorey’s hand clenched tight around the petal and he smiled. “Sorry. Had a weird dream. Did I wake you?”

Mikleo made a sound somewhere between a groan and an affirmative grunt. His hands slid under the pillow, pressed together like a prayer. His amethyst eyes closed. Sorey would be lying if he tried to claim that some part of him wasn’t fond of the endearingly human way Mikleo had taken to sleeping. “What was it about?” the water seraph mumbled.

“Uh…” Sorey’s fist clenched tighter. He could feel the petal fray in his hold. “…nothing.”

Mikleo hummed. “Wow, what a ‘weird’ dream.”

“It was just...flowers, and…stuff.” Sorey stared at Mikleo. He shifted under the covers. “I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Me too,” Mikleo said, though he was already out by the time Sorey finally laid back down.

The third time happened just after Alisha left and he was supposed to feel “better.” Without so much strain on his own resonance, Sorey knew the idea was he should be able to heal and recover and get stronger to fight more Malevolence.

But if that was supposed to be the case, the young Shepherd wondered why in the world it was, then, that he found himself doubled-over under the tree beside their camp early the next morning. He coughed and hacked his way through three petals that slipped out of his mouth. Harrowed breaths and shaking fingers reached for the small, blue things that had fallen among the roots, afraid to touch them—but more afraid than that to let anyone else see them.

_Again_ …?

“Sorey?” Mikleo’s voice carried to him, gaining volume as the seraph approached with measured footfalls. “Are you all right?”

Sorey’s hand snatched the petals out of sight. “Fine!” he answered. Both fists clutched tight to his chest. He turned to look over his shoulder in time to see his best friend stop within arm’s reach. From Sorey’s angle beneath him, the sunlight seemed to frame Mikleo’s pale hair around his face like a halo.

Mikleo crossed his arms over his chest. His amethyst eyes trailed along the ground around Sorey at the base of the tree carefully; Sorey thought his heart might pound right out of his chest.

“You didn’t sound like it,” the seraph commented quietly. “Almost sounded like you were throwing up.” All of a sudden, those eyes—so royal and violet and beautiful—snapped to his and narrowed. “Were you?”

“N-no!”

“You’re not just trying to play the ‘strong’ card again, are you?” Mikleo asked flatly. “Because if you’re sick, you’re sick. Let’s just head back to Marlind until you feel better; there’s no need to make a big deal about it.”

“I’m not sick,” Sorey tried to say, but his voice sounded weak even to his ears. Was he?

Something unreadable passed over Mikleo’s face. He paused, his form completely still; his eyes stared into Sorey’s with an intensity that almost scared the kneeling Shepherd. But when he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “Sorey?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

Sorey turned to fully face the seraph. His hands, still clenched, fell away from his chest and pressed to his knees. “Yeah! Yeah, of course I would…!”

Mikleo’s face tightened. His jaw clenched and unclenched as if working for words that wouldn’t come. Finally, his hands dropped to his sides. “Yeah, all right. Well.” He took a breath. “C’mon. I’m telling Lailah and Edna.”

“Wait! About what?”

“We’re going back and you’re going to _rest_. That’s what.”

“Mikleo…!”

Going back to Marlind, Sorey found, actually turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. Briefly bedridden in a town full of books first gave Sorey the idea to research for information as to what was happening to him. But the truth about petals popping up out of peoples’ mouths were nowhere to be found in the literature Marlind had available. He had to keep looking.

Lastonbell had some tragic folktales whispered among their cobblestone streets that mentioned unrequited love and lips full of flowers, but they were nothing concrete Sorey could glean information from. They were just depressing.

The first bit of hope Sorey could get his hands on didn’t come until Pendrago, and by that point, he had already been steadily leaving behind the group a small trail of petals drifting after their footsteps along their journey. Stolen moments hidden away—“I need to go to the bathroom”—as soon as the itch in the back of his throat started. Vignettes of solitude interrupted by swirling nausea and one, then two, then three, then four petals.

One horrible day, he coughed up seven.

It did not escape his notice he could have folded himself a pale blue rose with the fallen pieces; he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

The petal count steadily increased week by week, and soon, day by day.

Then, Sorey finally found the word:  _hanahaki._

It was in an old mythology textbook in the library at Pendrago. A name for the mysterious flowers that sprouted up from somewhere deep within; a ‘disease’ born from a spell (not that Sorey remembered ever having been struck by such a spell) that only worked under very specific internal conditions:  the intended target had to have a love for another that was, to their knowledge, unreturned. Should that condition be met, the target of the spell would slowly, over time, start to choke on the ‘flowers of their affection’ stirred up from inside.

Sorey traced the short entry with his fingers and committed them to memory. _Hanahaki, hanahaki._ At some point, he had to have been hit with such a spell as the one detailed in the text, but what boggled him was how? Why? And perhaps more importantly than both of those questions:  was there a cure? Sorey’s eyes drifted to the words below.

Sharply, he snapped the book shut and shoved it back onto the library shelf. He stared for a moment at the innocent, faded navy siding of the tome. He felt his heart pound hard inside his chest at the same time as it panged with guilt. He spun away and wondered how long it would take to find the others who were still milling, he hoped, somewhere in the library. He wondered if they would notice if he took his time trying to find them again.

Sorey wasn’t a fool.

He had known even before he and Mikleo had left Elysia that he loved the seraph. He knew that fact as easy as he knew his own name; it was obvious. Mikleo was easy to be around and so deeply intertwined in his life that whenever Sorey thought about the great and unknown expanse of the future stretching before him, there had been no question in his mind that he wanted _Mikleo_ there with him to face it all, more than anyone else.

He loved Mikleo.

There had never _been_ a need to question it. So the success of the _hanahaki_ spell wasn’t surprising to the Shepherd in the least. Yes, there was someone he loved; yes, there was someone he deeply cared about and wanted to protect. But the only arduous part of the entire matter was that the key to his cure, then, didn’t rest in his own hands.

It rested in Mikleo’s.

And it quickly became apparent to Sorey as he walked by shelves and shelves filled with books as far as the eye could see, endlessly wandering and churning this newfound knowledge over and over again in his mind, that if the only way to rid himself of this spell was to have Mikleo return his affections, then there might really be nothing he could do to save himself.

If Mikleo loved him back, then that would be great—for many reasons other than just not dying because of flower petals.

But if Mikleo didn’t, then that meant there was no safe way for Sorey to arrange for his own survival.

_What am I supposed to say? Hey, Mikleo, please love me so you can save my life! What kind of question is that?_

No, that wasn’t an option. All of the expectations and pressure that could be placed on his best friend, putting Mikleo in such a situation where he had to somehow find it within himself to love him in a way that maybe the water seraph hadn’t ever really wanted to—Sorey didn’t want anything to do with that. He _couldn’t_ put Mikleo in that situation. Wouldn’t. Ever.

“Sorey! There you are!”

So that left him few other choices if he wanted to survive this, if there even were any leftover. The entry in this book in the Pendrago library was small, but Sorey had to hold out hope, right? Perhaps there were other books out there. Perhaps there were other options available to him than just manipulating his best friend’s feelings—

“We’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you! I’m so bored; are you ready to leave yet? We might want to think about heading back to the inn here pretty soon. Edna’s threatened to gouge out Mikleo’s eyes if he doesn’t stop reading, and y’know, I can’t quite tell yet when she’s joking or not….hey, you listening?”

—a hand on his shoulder turned him around.

Sorey raised his gaze from the carpet, bright green meeting sapphire blue. Rose’s eyes raked over his face. The bright grin on her face faltered.

“Hey,” she said. Her voice dropped in volume; her hand didn’t leave his shoulder. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

Sorey looked back to Rose and didn’t know what to say. What could he say?

He licked his lips. “Can I…talk to you about somethin’?”

Rose’s back straightened. Her hand squeezed his shoulder; it didn’t fall away. “Hey. You _know_ you can, Sorey.”

Sorey nodded. He took a breath.

Rose, to her credit, did not look away once. Sorey told her about the spell—or maybe curse—he was under. He confessed he didn’t know when it had been placed on him; she didn’t laugh when he said he didn’t remember. She didn’t pull away when she heard about the flower petals. She didn’t even blink when he confessed to her his affections for Mikleo—actually, for some reason, she started to smile at that but Sorey wasn’t sure how to interpret the way it so closely resembled a feline’s—and the awkward place this put him in.

She stayed right with him until the end of his story and in the quiet afterwards, she sighed.

Rose placed a hand on her hip and raised the other to scratch at the back of her head. “Wow. That…sucks.”

Sorey chuckled softly, a little hopelessly. He nodded; he wasn’t sure if that was the words he would use to describe it, but they were close enough. His eyes dropped to the floor. “Yeah, I guess so,” he murmured.

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. Her bright blues reevaluated the Shepherd before her. “Do you think you’ll tell the others?”

A cold jolt sparked down Sorey’s chest. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I mean, this is all because of a spell, right?” Rose asked. “And seraphim are like, _centuries_ old. So maybe Lailah knows something about it. Heck, even Edna. They use all sorts of weird magic to do what they do, yeah?”

Sorey’s cheeks dusted red. He raised a hand to scratch just under his eye. “Yeah, maybe.”

Rose sighed after a moment of pause. “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”

Sorey pressed his lips tightly together. Something like shame colored his face and spread down his neck to his collar. “Rose, if Mikleo found out—“

“—no, no, I get it. I get it.” Rose shifted her weight. “Believe me, I do.” She frowned, eyes taking in Sorey, the carpet, the books to their right and left. All of these pages of writing and years of history and no guidance on what to do when a _hanahaki_ spell forced you to hold your silence. “Look, I won’t tell you what to do, because I don’t _know_ what to do here, but if you need help at any time as we try and figure this out, let me know. Okay?”

It was more than Sorey had wanted. He nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

“I mean it,” Rose stressed. Her blue eyes pinned the green ones across from her. “This doesn’t have to be like that Shepherd thing, okay? You already got to deal with that; you’re not dealing with this alone, too. No, scratch that—I’m not _letting_ you deal with it alone. You don’t even get a choice. So you’ve got to let me know when you need something, all right?”

Sorey smiled and for some odd and wonderful reason, he laughed. Relief, warm and happy, slid through him. “Yeah, okay,” he said with a quiet bounce. “Thanks, Rose.”

Rose hadn’t known how tense she held her shoulders until she felt them relax. “Yeah,” she said back. “Don’t mention it.”

They set up a system. When Sorey felt the familiar tickle in the back of his throat, he gave Rose a sign. All the assassin had to see was a tap to the front of his neck, and she understood. She came up with excuse after excuse to help Sorey get a moment to himself. It ranged by the day.

“Hey, Sorey, why don’t you get us some firewood? I hear it’s gonna get cold tonight!”

“Wow, Sorey, you _smell._ Take a bath already! Go on, get out of here! _Pew-pew_!”

It worked until it didn’t.

Until the attacks took more and more time because the petals just kept coming. The gasps between coughs grew too short and the nausea swept in like a thick cloud. There were days Sorey thought he’d black out because he couldn’t _breathe_ around all of the blue. Seven petals at the end of an episode became a mercy; more often than not Sorey found himself coughing up to ten. Sometimes, fifteen.

The numbers continued to increase; Sorey didn’t know what he could do. Gododdin offered no new hope or information in their small library to an alternate route that could stop the curse. Sorey began to wonder if the spell would really kill him before he got a chance to purify the world.

Then the night came where Sorey couldn’t stop coughing and Rose wasn’t there to help him and everything changed.

It had been after the Fire Trial. Rose was bedridden because she had been heavily injured in the final fight against the armored Salamander; she rested back at the inn in Gododdin with Lailah, who also needed to recover from Igraine. Sorey felt the timely, familiar itch at the back of his throat and fumbled for an excuse about taking a walk outside.

He should have known with such a throw-away line he would have been followed.

Sorey had taken a single step outside of the inn and gagged. He stumbled. He clasped a hand to his mouth and forced himself to breathe. In and out—in and out. No matter how thin each inhale and exhale was. He could feel the first petals flutter in the back of his mouth.

He pushed on.

Sorey got just far enough away from the small village, tucked away in a corner between the cliffsides where he was sure he wouldn’t be seen, before he let his hand fall away. The petals came, one after another through seizing coughs, steadily. Sometimes, three or four fell out in a single heave. A gasp and a gag and then more fell out and onto the ground and Sorey couldn’t stop it. They just came. He tried to breathe between every other strangled rasp, but he couldn’t get the chance to inhale enough to even exhale.

He raised one hand to his mouth, shaking, trying to stem the flow. The petals came anyway, slipping out, between his fingers. He raised his other hand and felt a harsh tightness in his chest. Two at a time fluttered past his hands—

“Sorey?”

His gasp nearly choked him on the petals still coming up. Sorey, with a handful of light blue still pressed to his mouth, snapped around. His green eyes were wet and wide.

There stood Mikleo, with amaranthine eyes equally as wide, his hands at his sides.

“D—“ Sorey gagged. He bent over, shoulders curled in.  A tear slipped from his eye and his head pounded with pain. He dropped a hand to the ground, keeping himself upright. He couldn’t _breathe._ His lungs hacked for air. “—I’m—“

“Y-you _idiot_!”

It wasn’t the response he expected. Neither was the shadow that fell over him and the hands that grasped his shoulders, pulling him back towards a slender chest. Mikleo’s touch was cool against his fevered skin. Sorey shuddered; his stomach flipped. “Is _this_ what you’ve been trying to hide from me? I _knew_ there was something wrong!”

Sorey coughed over the next three that landed on his tongue. He breathed them free. “I’m—I’m sorry—“

“Don’t you dare try and say that right now. I’m—“ Mikleo shook his head and sighed out a horrible breath. “—just…just _breathe_ , okay? I may not know what this is, but I can bet that panicking doesn’t help.” The hands on Sorey’s shoulders squeezed. “So calm down, breathe, and let it come. Okay?”

“’Kay,” Sorey warbled. Two more petals dropped through his shaking fingers.

Mikleo kept him pressed to his chest and didn’t let go. Sorey could hear the shudder of his breath in the gaps between his own haggard gasps. A hand found its way into his hair.

“This has been going on since Marlind, right?” Mikleo’s voice was quiet, unobtrusive. His chest rose and fell and Sorey listened, shuddering. The water seraph corrected himself. “No, before that. Ever since you took that _curse_. That’s when it really started. Isn’t it?”

Curse?

Sorey moved to sit up. His stomach swam; he swallowed and felt an awkward, choking flutter in his throat. He coughed out two more and groaned. “C-curse…?”

Mikleo frowned. “You don’t remember? There was that spell in Rayfalke Spiritcrest that you took for me. We were fighting that one hellion with that…wolf-thing.”

Vague images swim to the forefront of Sorey’s mind; filmy snapshots of a battle that he half-remembered, intermittent with the familiar feel of his sword in his hand and a wide arc to his swing that left him open. Kind of like Mikleo’s back, which he had been trying so hard to defend. It felt so long ago compared to now, where he was cradled in the middle of a small pool of petals that had been born from within himself.

“You leapt in the way of it and got hit with this spell we’d never seen before, but you didn’t go down. You kept fighting like nothing happened, so we all assumed you were fine and it didn’t work.” The frown on Mikleo’s face deepened. “I should’ve known it wasn’t _nothing_.”

Sorey’s chest shook with another rattling cough. His hand caught the next petals. “S-sorry.”

“What are _you_ apologizing for?” Mikleo asked.

Sorey shook his head, unable to find the words, but Mikleo shook his head right back, quick and firm. Forcefully, he turned Sorey’s shoulders to face him. “No, stop that. We’re _talking_ about this, you idiot. I don’t care if you’re mad at me; I’m making this right. Right now.”

Sorey’s brow dipped down. He frowned. “Mad? Why would I…be mad at you?”

“Because I was the reason you got _hit_ with this—whatever-it-is!” Mikleo waved a hand towards the petals lying around them; petals he himself was kneeling in without fear or disgust. It was a strange time for Sorey to suddenly feel overwhelmed with gratitude and fondness for the seraph who hadn’t batted an eye at the strange sight of his best friend coughing up blue flowers. But warmth blossomed through him, anyway. His stomach gave a twinge of warning.

Mikleo continued talking. “I thought you were _mad_ at me because of something the curse was doing to you.”

“Why?” Sorey wracked his mind to try and understand. He coughed out a petal, then two. They floated to the ground between their close knees. “Why would I be mad at you for something—“ –a thin breath— “—something like that?”

“I don’t know!” Mikleo’s hands clenched into fists in the arms of Sorey’s cloak. “You wouldn’t _talk_ to me about it. You wouldn’t say _anything_ anymore and you started acting weird. You’d come up with these pathetic excuses to go off and be by yourself at random times, and I thought you didn’t want to be around me anymore.”

“W-what?”

“Let me finish!”

Sorey could see the sheen in Mikleo’s violet eyes. It made him quiet, staring at his friend, his dearest _person_ , as he clung to him by thin handholds.

Mikleo visibly swallowed. A strange tension started to form at the edges of his temple and in the clench of his jaw. It reminded Sorey of a moment under a tree some months ago when he saw that same handsome face work for words that just would not come.

“We have _always_ told each other _everything_ , Sorey. Always. And when you started drawing into yourself—“ –the water seraph shook his head— “—watching you do that because you’re the Shepherd is one thing, because there are some things you do and have to deal with that I can’t understand. But when you didn’t want to talk to me about this _curse_ that had been put on you all because you were trying to protect _me_ —and when you started hanging out with only _Rose_ more and more, I thought—w-well, what _else_ was I supposed to think?!”

Guilt dropped heavily into Sorey’s stomach, a cold and sinking stone.

“It’s not like you to be angry or hold a grudge at anything. I know that, more than anyone. But I guess I was still…” Suddenly, sharply, Mikleo shook his head. His face grew tighter. His eyes snapped to Sorey’s. “No, what I thought doesn’t matter. I want to help, Sorey. I know I messed up by getting you in this mess, so I want to make this right by getting you out of it. Let me help you.”

Sorey’s back straightened quickly. Alarm blared through his mind; his head swam. “But—“ What could he say?

“—let me _finish_ , Sorey,” Mikleo repeated, his gaze unwavering. His hands freed themselves from the Shepherd’s cloak and raised to the young man’s cheeks, cupping them with a sudden reverence. “Even if you don’t like me as much as you used to, please, let me _help._ I still care about you, okay? I still—”

“—Mikleo—“

“—I love you, Sorey.”

Sorey’s heart skipped a beat.

A soft gasp escaped him. His eyes widened.

For one surreal moment, time seemed to stand still; all life stopped breathing, stopped existing, stopped turning just for one small _moment_ when Sorey stared into Mikleo’s eyes and something loosened deep in his chest.

“W…” Sorey found himself unable to breathe for an entirely different reason than the bright blue petals now encircling them, lying in stark contrast to the deep red earth of Biroclef Ridge. “…what did you say…?”

Mikleo’s eyes shut tight with a wince. His hands slowly pulled away from Sorey’s face. “I said…I said ‘I love you.’”

Silence drifted between them.

Mikleo didn’t dare open his eyes. “I’m…I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that. I know that puts you in a bad positi—“

He didn’t get the chance to finish.

Soft lips pressed to his own in a messy kiss. They tasted something like hydrangeas and lavender and Mikleo gasped into it, electricity shooting through him. His eyes shot open.

Sorey’s hands had latched themselves into his shirt.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Mikleo found his own hands wandering back first to Sorey’s cloak, and then his shoulders. They gripped tight the fabric they could find, fingers digging and holding. One hand slid up to cup a tanned cheek.

They parted too soon.

“S-Sorey…?” Mikleo licked his lips; he could still taste Sorey on them.

The human before him chuckled, something warm, soft, and husky that made Mikleo shiver for reasons he couldn’t fully name. “I guess I’m not the only idiot here if you honestly think I would have eyes for anyone else but you.”

Amaranthine looked to emerald. “So Rose isn’t—“

“—not in a million years.” Sorey’s grin was too wide to be a lie. Mikleo found himself easing into his hands as they slid around the small of his back. “I’ll explain it all later. I’m sorry I couldn’t have told you earlier, but now, you more than anyone deserve to know what’s been going on.”

Mikleo nodded. His eyes drifted down to the petals still lying around their legs; a theater of flowers for the stage of their little ‘budding’ romance. _Lailah would be proud of that one_. “I imagine it’s quite a story.” He raised his gaze to Sorey’s eyes again, growing serious once more. “Do you promise to let me in, too, this time? I can help. I’ll do everything I can to help you get better, Sorey. We can look this curse up in the libraries we’ve visited; there’s got to be something in there on how to cure—“

“—Mikleo,” Sorey said, with a smile on his face that could rival the sun. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already cured me.”

Skepticism painted itself on pale, porcelain features. Mikleo raised a thin eyebrow. “Is this from one of your awful poems?”

“No,” Sorey stifled a laugh.

“Is this you playing the ‘strong’ card again?”

“No,” Sorey repeated and laughed again. “This is me finally telling you the truth.”

He leaned forward and kissed Mikleo again, bringing their bodies as close together as he could. A clear wind whistled through the canyon and swept up the remains of flower petals around them. It tossed them into the sky.


End file.
